Karthus, Origins
by Naovan
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Karthus became the Deathsinger?


_Agony, ecstasy, peace, every passing has a beauty all its own..._

He had always been fascinated by death, but he never knew why. The thought of it was consuming, to the point of obsession. From observing the suffering and passing of animals to watching the old and infirm die Karthus remained enthralled by what he saw each time.

Release from pain, he observed.

Eventually his desire led him to fake his own death; He wanted to see how death impacted people. At his funeral people were clad in black, the idea that death was the final void of which there was no escape. His parents and a few others had come, grieving for the loss of their son and companion.

Pain, he observed.

His revealing that he was not dead a year later did little to comfort anyone, they were beyond grieving his passing and had moved past him. Their rejection of him did little to concern him, rather it confirmed that the path he was on had some great secret. Karthus was very determined to discover the secret that the void of death held. In his quest he travelled to the Shadow Isles, the place of death and spirits. Did all the dead become spirits? His learning came at the price of losing his humanity, his body became frail and weak with how sedentary he had become. He ate only to nourish his flesh and used his time to listen to the dead.

Thru all of his studies he believed he had the knowledge he had always seeked. To defy death and enter into it as a living being. The seeming conundrum is what protected this secret and he amassed the required materials to perform the rite.

The book was large, nearly the size of a grown man's chest. The thousands of pages were blank, waiting to be written upon.

"To represent the soul eternal." Karthus put the hollow crystal in the center of the cover.

"To represent the shell corporeal," He continued as he fused a few small bones to the cover, in a pattern around the crystal.

He took a moment to look upon his work. Everything was prepared. Anxiety filled his being, fully aware of what he was about to do. His young trembling hand took hold of the quill he had brought. He raised it to his tongue, now dry, to wet the end of it. He dipped it into the inkwell, and then heavy laden with ink, raised it to the first page.

NECRONOMICON

His hands still shaking even as he wrote the title as elegantly as was possible. He turned the page.

His nerves calmed as he focused on the task he had performed countless times during his life, but now was the last. A single large box was drawn in the corner, beautiful shapes filled the box until at last the letter came to life. **K**

His name formed **a** slowly, perfectly. upon **r** the page one single intent stroke **t** at a time. He had all of his life **h** to do this final task, **u** and he would not be denied by himself. He lingered for a moment, his life's penultimate ordeal. He took a breath of fresh air into his lungs and held it as he finished the concluding character. Even as he completed his name he muttered with his **s** ultimate breath, "Perish"

His body fell down, lifeless, the quill scratching a thin line of ink off the page. His soul fled to the phylactery he had prepared a lifetime before.

The moment of revel was upon him. His eyes were opened to the mysteries of the life beyond the flesh. Confined no more Karthus spent his next moments understanding the flood of knowledge rushing into him. As agony gave meaning to ecstasy in life so death gave meaning to life itself. Karthus was in bliss, all he had searched for in life was answered the moment he was in the bitter sweet caress of death. There was no way to explain the joy he felt, and he stayed in the moment for a period of time. But time had no meaning to Karthus, only the living measure time as the length of their existence. His own demise was not tragic, there were no tears, death was beautiful because he now understood life. He had the comparison he had always desired but never knew. He was not fascinated with death, but rather so fascinated with life he sought death to give meaning to life. Life is defined by death, even as a wound is defined by an uninjured body. His intoxicating delight lingered. He finally had purpose beyond himself, he wanted to welcome another being from life into death. He used his anchor in the mortal realm for the first time.

"Shell. Arise."

His empty deceased body had long since withered away and become frail. The muscles were shrunk and the bones protruded against the skin. But even as the master gave the command the shell arose, hovering in the air. Karthus was pleased with himself. He relearned how to use a body, realizing that spirits were confined to their separate dimension. He had the knowledge of life and of death. He was eager to share what no other could, a way into the embrace of death, and back into life. To understand life fully meant comprehending death entirely.

He picked up the book of the dead, the Necronomicon, and floated away.


End file.
